


Old-Fashioned Love Song

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Vanilla Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:00:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete has been paying attention to what Gabe wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old-Fashioned Love Song

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "vanilla kink" square at kink_bingo.

It is a natural consequence of being in love that you feel sheer terror every time a circumstance arises where your beloved might decide to exercise creativity in the choice of a gift.

At least, Gabe hopes it's natural. It's where he's at now, anyway.

"It's your birthday," Travie says patiently, and Gabe makes a face at the phone, because obviously it's his birthday. Would he be panicking if it wasn't? No. "I doubt he's going to something terrible."

"Last year he tried to buy me a car."

"Why is that a problem?"

"It doesn't seem awkward to you?"

Travie's silence speaks volumes. Really irritating volumes.

"Well, it was. It was awkward. It was too much."

"I'm sure your reaction was equally uncomfortable for him, and he'll never do it again."

"But he'll come up with something _else_."

Travie sighs, a sound of deep and contemplative sorrow, the sigh of a man who has walked to the edge and back, possibly while carrying Pete under one arm. "Well, what did you get him for _his_ birthday?"

Gabe hums under his breath. "Louboutins."

"What?"

"Louboutins. Expensive, fancy shoes."

"That's better than a car?"

"They were for..." Gabe stares out the window. "They were for very specific reasons."

"Huh?"

"Sex reasons."

"Oh." Gabe can almost hear Travie rolling his eyes. "Well, how do you know the car wasn't a sex thing?"

"Pete doesn't have any car fantasies."

"Maybe he thought he was filling one of yours."

"I don't have car fantasies either."

He can definitely hear Travie's patience wearing thin. "What fantasies _do_ you have? Maybe he'll go for one of those."

"Maybe." Gabe frowns and thinks about it. "There's one where I'm a dashing swordsman taken prisoner by a rogue duke. But we've kind of already done that."

"No details," Travie says. "Call someone else with those, I don't want to think about either of you naked. He's my brother and you're too... you."

"You're hurting my feelings and we weren't naked. I had a mask on and he was wearing the Louboutins."

Travie hangs up on him, and Gabe returns to his contemplation. And fear. And hunger, a little bit. A muffin would not go amiss.

Tomorrow, he'll be older. The fuck is that.

**

Pete picks him up at the airport with a smile. "Hi. Good flight? You're here, that's so fucking great."

"It is great." Gabe slides into the car, pulls him into a hug, and kisses his forehead. "Pretty good flight. They gave me a cookie when I told them it was my birthday."

"Awesome." Pete tucks his chin into Gabe's shoulder for a moment, his nose to Gabe's throat. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too, Pedro." Gabe rubs Pete's wrist. "Where's my present?"

Pete pulls back and rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling. "That's why you're here, huh?"

"Let's get the celebration of my old age over with and get to the fun."

"Don't even." Pete pulls the car into traffic, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the music coming from the speakers and rolling his eyes again when Gabe takes possession of the iPod and makes the immediate executive decision that Pete's playlists suck.

"So what about my present?"

Pete glances at him from the corner of his eye and changes lanes. "It's experiential."

"It's what?"

"Something you _do_ , not, like, a material object."

Gabe thinks for a minute. "Is it a spa?"

"No."

"Is it a club?"

"No."

"Is it one of those kidnapping things where guys with SWAT training take me out into the wilderness and leave me there?"

Pete stares at him. "What? No."

"I saw a thing on TV. Eyes on the road."

Pete looks at the road and taps the brakes. "Well, I wouldn't do that to you."

"That's probably good." Gabe stretches his legs out and skips ahead through the artists on the iPod. "I don't think I'd do well in the woods."

"You really wouldn't." Pete changes lanes again, and Gabe realizes they just passed the exit to get to Pete's house. "You'd get eaten by bears, and then what would I do?"

"You'd come up with something. Where are we going?"

"Trust me. And I don't want to come up with something."

"Then douse me with bear repellent before you have me kidnapped."

"I'm not having you kidnapped. What conversation are we even having right now?"

"I have no idea," Gabe admits, and puts the iPod on screaming hardcore of the 90s for the rest of the drive. The eerie wails of his youth.

**

Their destination turns out to be a four-star hotel.

Part of Gabe still feels like a fraud who's getting away with it when he stays at places like this. He imagines that that part is still seventeen, with badly bleached hair and a lot of opinions about Lagwagon. It never, ever gets laid and its best friend is their dad. "Pete, what are we doing?"

"Trust me." Pete goes up to the desk and checks them in, flashing his big fake public grin. Gabe hates that grin. It makes his face hurt in sympathy.

Pete returns with a key card. "Come on. Everything is all set, or so they say."

"Promise I'm not walking into a trap."

"You're really paranoid." Pete leads him to the elevator, which by some miracle they have to themselves. Gabe hooks his fingers in Pete's waistband and pulls him close. 

"What are you up to, Wentzlet?"

"It's a present, Gabe. That's a good thing."

"I don't like a lot of fuss."

Pete rolls his eyes. "God, you're impossible."

"I just..."

"I've been paying attention, okay? I've been taking notes."

"Notes on what?"

"What you like. Your secret desires."

Gabe's mind goes blank for a moment. "If they're secret, how can you take notes on them?"

"Oh my god." Pete pulls away and bangs his head on the elevator wall. "I pay attention to you. I analyze you."

"Okay, now I'm double-scared."

"You're an asshole." The elevator opens and Pete stomps down the hall. "If I didn't love you I would punch you in the balls."

"That is _not_ my fantasy, just for the record."

"Shut up." Pete opens the door and wave Gabe inside, where he finds a perfectly nice but not palatial room. It's not even a suite, just a room with a king-sized bed and a table set for two, with silver-lidded trays at each seat and lit candles at the center.

"Happy romantic dinner for two, asshole," Pete says. "There are flower petals in the sheets and the bathtub, too. And massage oil and chocolate and more candles and strawberry lube, I hope that doesn't give me a rash, and there's champagne coming at midnight. I'm going to romance you so hard you puke pink glitter."

Gabe stare at the table. "Is the dinner vegan?"

"So vegan it hurts."

"You really love me."

"I really do." Pete wraps his arms around Gabe's waist from behind. "We can have missionary-style sex with the lights off, under the covers, no talking. Just for you."

"Talking is okay."

"I will give you soft, gentle kisses all over your body. You can keep a sheet of ticky marks to make sure I hit 500 kisses."

"That might be going a little far."

"Also," Pete says, nipping the back of Gabe's neck--he must be up on his toes-- "I will let you fold all of my clothes before we go to bed. And you can clean my closet when we go home tomorrow."

Gabe pulls away. "You're making fun of me."

"I'm not, I promise."

"Yeah, you are. I know it's funny. Rockstar whose whole thing is being a dickhead secretly likes romance and cuddling and, like. Old-fashioned sex."

"I'm not making fun of you."

"I would make fun of me." Gabe stares at the table. "This looks really good."

Pete takes his hand and tugs at it. "Look at me." Gabe shakes his head, but Pete keeps tugging. "Look at me. Please?"

Gabe huffs a breath and glances at him from the corner of his eye. "What?"

"Close enough." Pete brings Gabe's hand up and kisses the back of it. "I'm not making fun of you. For real. I want to romance you. I want to have old-fashioned sex. I want to cuddle and watch dumb movies all night. You don't have to clean my closet tomorrow, but you can if you want to. And a bunch of people are coming over for a barbecue. Okay?"

Gabe shrugs, his face still warm. "Yeah. Okay."

"Yeah, okay, you're excited, or yeah, okay, you'll go through the motions and hate every minute?"

"I'm excited. And embarrassed. And hungry."

"We can fix that one first." Pete lets go of his hand and moves to pull a chair out for him.

"You don't have to do that, come on."

"I will romance you however the fuck I want." Pete holds the chair until Gabe sits down. "See? You're being romanced and you will like it."

"Or else?"

"Or else we'll scrap all these plans and I will fight you." Pete whips the lid off Gabe's tray of food. "Et voilà. Bon appetit. More French stuff."

Gabe rolls his eyes and picks up his silverware. "Let's stick to English."

"Are you implying that I can't be bilingually romantic?"

"I'm saying neither of us speaks French."

Pete grins at him over the table. "You're smiling."

"Only because you're cute." Gabe shakes his head and starts eating. The food is really good. Perfect, actually. And the candlelight is all soft and fuzzy and exactly how romantic dinner always are in the movies. There's even cake for dessert, in the shape of a heart, with Gabe's name drizzled on top in white chocolate. 

"That's vegan, too," Pete says, nodding at the cake tray. "I made sure."

"You thought of everything."

"I tried to."

Gabe shakes his head. "You really didn't have to work this hard."

Pete shrugs. "I wanted to, dude. Cut the cake."


End file.
